  The purple light sleeps on the hills, The shadowed valleys sleep between, Down through the shadows slide the rills, The drooping hazels o'er them lean. The clouds lie sleeping in the sky— The crimson beds of sleeping airs; The broad sun shuts his lazy eye On all the long day's weary cares. The far, low meadows sleep in light, The river sleeps, a molten tide; I dream reclined, with half-shut sight— My dog sleeps, couching at my side. The branches droop above my head, The motes sleep in the slanting beam, Yon hawk sails through the sunset red— Adieu thought, sailing through a dream! And here upon this bank I lie, Beneath the drooping, airless leaves, And watch the long, low sunset die, On silent, dreamy summer eves. The slant light creeps the boughs among, And drops upon the sleeping sod— She lies below, in slumber long, Asleep till the great morn of God! |
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